


Too Fast

by ml_rivers



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22088878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ml_rivers/pseuds/ml_rivers
Summary: "You move too fast for me, Crowley."A very short scene regarding this very important quote from the TV show.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Too Fast

"You move too fast for me, Crowley."

And he did move too fast. He was too quick to anger, too quick to shout. He wanted to convince you of something right away, instead of letting it simmer. He did let it, of course, he had patience when it counted, but he always had to nag about it. Do this, Aziraphale. Do that. Make an agreement, tempt someone, won't you? Just this once, darling, come on, who could it hurt?

Too fast, always.

He was too quick to pour a drink, too quick to sober up. He always wanted to be moving, Crowley. Perhaps it was a leftover from his days as a snake. He could never just stay in one place and be happy with it. Maybe demons couldn't be happy. Aziraphale wasn't particularly good at being happy, either. But he could stay quite perfectly still, by golly. For minutes or hours or decades, really, as long as he had his books. And a good bottle of wine. And food service, of course.

Crowley was too quick to propose sedition, rebellion. To suggest you kill someone to make an end meet, or bugger off if a war was coming. Aziraphale had the same thoughts, of course, but he took longer to get to them. That had to count for something.

He was too fast to touch, always. To quick to slide his fingers along Aziraphale's arm. To brush a stray bit of hair back from his face, to casually adjust his tie or his collar if it had gone willy-nilly. Too quick to touch, and then too quick to pull away, before Aziraphale had even really gotten the chance to feel it. Would it always be that way, he wondered. Would Crowley's touch always leave him before he'd had the chance to adjust to it, to catalog it, to understand what it actually felt like? Before he had the chance to savor it, as one savored a fine single-malt scotch as it slid its way down your throat, warm and smooth and building a fire within the deepest parts of you? 

If Crowley kissed him, would that be too quick as well? Would he take the kiss before Aziraphale had the chance to properly consider the proposal of one? Would it end just as quickly as it had begun, a blaze of hellfire on his lips drawn away before he'd even had the chance to taste it?

Best not to find out, he thought. He was an angel, and Crowley was a demon, and it only stood to reason that such experiments would be disastrous. Not that he wanted to experiment. He was an angel, and he wanted for nothing. Nothing except whatever the ineffable plan called for, of course, but he couldn't know what that was, precisely, it being ineffable and all. 

No, best not to wonder. Crowley was far too good at sensing his thoughts, and if he guessed, well... he'd want to try it, probably, and Aziraphale might have to go about showing him how to slow down, by whatever means necessary. That wouldn't do. It was unthinkable. 

"Lunch, angel?" 

Aziraphale glanced down at the ground. It seemed he had stopped moving entirely while he pondered. Crowley had taken the opportunity to drive up next to him.

"I am a bit peckish," he admitted, a small, embarrassed smile on his face.

"Get in. We can do the Ritz, if you like." Aziraphale walked around to the passenger side of the car. He paused, not entirely sure if he was willing to get in.

"Come on. I'll go as slow as you like," Crowley said, tipping his sunglasses down so that Aziraphale could see his yellow snake eyes.

"That's a lie," Aziraphale said, his smile becoming a grin as he slid into the familiar leather seat. 

"Always," Crowley promised, shifting the car into drive. After a moment, Aziraphale set his hand on the gearshift, covering Crowley's fingers with his own.

"Hold on," Crowley said, shifting into a higher gear. 

"Always."


End file.
